21 days later

I could not have anticipated how difficult the first week without Licorice would feel. We spent the weekend grieving for her and supporting each other, and then Monday arrived. The family went back to work and school and here I was, at home, alone, without my sweetheart. If I never experience a Monday like that again, I will be eternally grateful. After years of being with her daily, taking care of her needs, and shooing her out of my office when I was working, suddenly not having her with me left me feeling brutalized.

In the last six months or so she had begun to feel unwell, and so after her cancer diagnosis I spent a good deal of my time watching her, making sure she wasn't ailing, or in pain. All that worry took a toll that the rest of the family didn't experience. I felt alone in my pain in some ways that first week. Lost. Her things were still around; an empty kibble dish and a bag of snack treats. Her toys strewn all over the house, her favorite chew bone still under the ottoman. Scratch marks in the carpet in my bedroom. (like a cat she always 'made dough' with her nails before lying down).

I was angry with her after she died, angry that she had been such a darned pest toward the end, in need of constant attention. She followed me everywhere, literally. If she could heave herself up from lying in a sunspot, she'd be right behind me. I can't tell you the number of times she was right on my heels, tripping me up. Head in my lap whenever I sat down, heedless of client calls. Fourteen trips outside during the day, begging at the door in good weather for another chance to lie in her favorite grassy spot. I'd be forced to make her come back inside after ten or so minutes because with her lung tumors, too much sun was unhealthy and she'd begin wheezing. She was very stubborn. I'd have to get angry with her in order to get her moving, and I hated yelling at her. But it was that, or risk one of her attacks. We still don't know exactly what they comprised.

Licorice took something truly marvelous with her, a quality of self, a personality, something that we all miss a great deal. We loved her so dammed much and when she died, that something left. I dreamed of her the night she died. She simply appeared, in her "Good Dog!" sitting position, and appeared to be waiting. It was then I knew she was waiting for us to let her go.

She has since moved on, but we who love her struggle to do so. The reminders aren't so tough anymore; we don't pause to listen to neighbor dogs barking any longer. A labrador retriever on the street will still garner attention, but that Lab isn't our Lab, and so feels like just another dog. Not terribly special, you see.

My son of course is begging for a turtle/snake/rabbit/guinea pig/hamster/puppy/kitty/gecko/bird(what's with THAT?)/or $40 koi he can keep in a kiddie pool in the backyard. I simply don't know that I'll ever be desirous of another pet. Licorice truly had our hearts, and has them still.